Surefoot 31: Redpaw

Seconds passed, though it felt like the Universe was holding its breath.

"We have 100 onboard!" Neheru reported. "150... 175-"

"Klingons still on fast approach," C'Rash reported. "ETA 60 seconds!"

"Onscreen!" Hrelle ordered.

The viewscreen image changed, from the debris of the Tsukuba, to three huge Klingon battle cruisers approaching in tight formation, not bothering to cloak themselves.

Hrelle took them in, indulging in a moment of appreciation at the classic design: the gunmetal-grey hulls, the long necks and bulbous heads, the angular swept-back wings to the underslung nacelles, before opening a channel himself. "Klingon vessels, this is Captain Hrelle of the USS Surefoot! We are not a combat vessel! We are an ambulance ship listed in the Interstellar Aid Registry, on a rescue mission for the survivors of the vessel you defeated! I plead with you to let us continue to do so and be on our way!"

"We have 225..." Neheru continued. "275-"

"You're pleading with them?" Bellamy repeated in disbelief as Hrelle closed the channel. "The animals who killed hundreds of our people?"

"To save the hundreds still alive? I'll kiss their bony asses if I have to!" As he spoke, Hrelle's thoughts ran many steps ahead as he brought up a tactical readout on his adjacent display of the system they were in: typical protostar, mass of energy, dust, debris, plenty of comets- good...

"ETA 45 seconds!"

Inspiration made Hrelle suddenly turn to C'Rash. "The polyluminous warp flares we use for mapping dark matter nebulae! Some are still in the armoury! Launch them towards the Klingons!"

"Why, Sir? They're not torpedoes-"

"They don't have to be, they're bright and scary if you don't know what they are! They'll buy us some seconds! Do it!"

C'Rash's fingers danced over her controls.

"325... 350..." Neheru continued.

*

Outside, three objects shot from the Surefoot's aft torpedo launcher, quickly shooting into warp towards the approaching Klingon ships, each one lighting up like miniature suns, burning a hot, blinding white.

The K't'inga-class cruisers, once in tight formation, suddenly broke off into hastily-improvised vectors.

*

"375..."

Hrelle strode over to the Helm, bringing up data on Velkovsky's display and indicating various points. "Irina, set a course along this route, and on my mark, take us to Warp 7 - for one second."

"One second, Sir? That won't get us far, two hundred million klicks-"

"That's enough." He looked back at C'Rash. "We still have those sensor decoys we used to train the Flight Ops cadets in tracking vessels at warp?"

"Aye, Sir, half a dozen-"

"Program them all with Sabre-class sensor signatures, be ready to launch them in different directions when we hit warp."

Neheru looked to him, eyes wide. "We have them, Sir! All of the survivors!"

"Klingons are on us!" C'Rash shouted. "Shields up!"

"All Hands," Hrelle called out. "Brace for high-speed manoeuvres!"

*

Outside, the Klingon cruisers roared in, spitting green disruptor fire wildly, as the Surefoot banked down and port, around the larger of the debris of the Tsukuba, allowing the bolts of energy to strike the wreckage and make it spin and collide with each other like billiard balls. The larger vessels had to make wide arcs to avoid the debris, as the Surefoot manoeuvred around it all with greater ease, keeping the flotsam between her and her pursuers, until she had a clear path to the system's young hot sun, and jumped into warp.

Space dilated around it, but only for an anxious heartbeat.

"Decoys launched!" C'Rash announced.

Then the ship dropped out again, finding itself much closer to the diffuse yellow-white ball of plasma, in the midst of a huge herd of huge comets, their long, thick tails stretching out in lazy arcs around the star that had birthed them.

"Helm, get us inside the tail of one of the comets!" He pointed. "That one! Hurry! Get in, lock a tractor on the body and cut engines! Latch onto that thing like it was your mother's teat!"

Velkovsky smirked as she complied, their ship slipping into the tail, as the debris that comprised it gently bathed the hull of the ship, too small to cause any significant damage, at least in the short term.

Hrelle turned to Tactical, but C'Rash already got the gist of his plan, and announced, "Ship's energy signature's tighter than a Ferengi's pursestrings! We're on Silent Running, and the background radiation from the star should help mask us further!"

Hrelle smiled, looking at a bemused Bellamy. "We can dodge and duck and pounce better than the big boys when we're in the grass, but we can't outrun them on open ground - especially with the load we're bearing now. Let them chase our decoys for a while while we hang back here and wait for backup."

"Hiding in the tail of a comet," Velkovsky murmured, grinning. "Very Old School. Uh, no offence, Sir."

He patted her appreciatively on the shoulder. "Luckily there are very few Klingons still alive who might have attended that Old School." He looked back at a dazed Bellamy. "What's our status?"

He blinked, returning to his station readings. "Initial reports coming in: medical teams fully mobilised, teams are assembled to move the wounded into Triage before assigning to Sickbay, Captain."

"Good. Keep an eye on things here; if there's any sign of the Klingons, hail me. I'm going down to see what I can do to help."

*

A lifetime ago, Hrelle had escaped from captivity in a pod barely larger than a shuttlepod - but with seventeen other fellow captives. They were packed in there, the life support systems doomed to imminent failure from the strain, but at the time it seemed a better alternative to remaining on a slave ship... especially as they had sabotaged the ship in order to escape.

Still, Hrelle would have been happy never to have been in a crowded, enclosed, mephitic space again.

But it came back to him now when he walked the decks of his ship, its corridors now filled with Starfleet crewmembers that weren't his, standing or sitting on the floors, many appearing in shock, or animatedly talking or arguing with each other, or looking for other crewmembers. Surefoot Support crewmen were working their way through the crowds, taking names on PADDs for the survivors' manifest. He moved to one. "Amisaki, have you found any of their Bridge officers?"

The young Asian man shook his head. "Not yet, Sir, but there's their Assistant Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Sotek." He looked back towards the end of the corridor. "The tall Vulcan with his back to us."

"Thanks. Make sure no one's injured and not being overlooked." Hrelle wound his way through the survivors, gently but firmly parting them to approach the older man, who was trying to coordinate the people around him. "Mr Sotek? Captain Hrelle, USS Surefoot."

The man turned to face the Caitian; he was thin, gaunt, with an aquiline nose and a small green cut on his narrow jaw, and, by Vulcan standards, appeared exhausted, though he maintained the expected composure. "Captain Hrelle... I thank you for your timely rescue."

Hrelle stood formally, knowing how much reflective emotional discipline a Vulcan would need at this time. "The honour is to serve, Mr Sotek; apologies, but it'll be cramped until reinforcements arrive. Are you able to tell me what happened?"

Sotek nodded. "I was in Main Engineering, in communication with the Bridge, supervising the latest upgrade of our sensor arrays to improve detection of cloaked ships."

Hrelle frowned. "You left Starbase 209 before the upgrades? Wasn't that risky?"

"The risk was noted by Captain Boutella, but he believed the probability of our encountering hostile vessels before the upgrades were completed was low enough, and our need to join the fleet in the Elasian system great enough to warrant it."

The Caitian made a sound, knowing he might have taken a similar risk himself. "What happened next?"

"The Klingons decloaked and focused their attack on our dorsal side, hitting the mission pod superstructure and separating it, before attacking the Bridge and the port nacelle." He paused, gathering his equanimity. "When contact was lost with the saucer section we attempted to gain control through the Battle Bridge... without success. That was when I gave the order to abandon ship."

He offered seemingly no visible sign of emotion to that, but Hrelle's experience with T'Varik gave him a perception that prompted him to comment, "It was the logical move to make under the circumstances. Do you know if any of your Bridge officers made it to the escape pods?"

"Lieutenant Tosa Natheal did, Sir," said one of the crewman behind Sotek. "Junior Operations Officer. She coordinated the evacuation of the saucer section."

"Where is she now?"

"Your Main Sickbay," Sotek answered blankly. "I am told she kept staying back, searching what was left of the saucer section, making sure everyone else got into the escape pods before she would leave. She was injured by plasma fire. The injuries appeared... extensive."

Hrelle nodded again respectfully. "Liaise with my crew, we'll do what we can to accommodate you for food and hygiene. We're running incommunicado while the Klingons are around, but we sent an alert to the Fleet with our location. There'll be a briefing with my officers in an hour or so; I'll want you there."

"Yes, Captain."

The corridor grew more crowded as he got closer to the Main Sickbay, with a near-steady stream of wounded moving in before being directed out again. The interior was frantic, with orders and counter-orders being directed between Doc Masterson and his staff, which included the new Assistant CMO Dr Shyrik, as well as the nursing staff and that annoying EMH, though at least the hologram appeared too busy to be obnoxious-

"Move!" Shyrik barked as she strode out in Hrelle's direction.

The Caitian stepped aside, unoffended, before siding up to Nurse Jika. "Excuse me, I was looking for Lt Natheal, I heard-"

Jika looked up at him, the Bajoran's initial reaction to the interruption instantly extinguished at the mention of the name. "Yes, Sir." She nodded towards the far end, at the Isochamber; through its transparent walls, Hrelle saw a yellow-green humanoid female on a biobed, and Ensign Eydiir standing in attendance. "In there, Captain. She's... we can't help her. The damage is too great, the burns cover 70% of her body- her legs are gone... she wouldn't even survive the stasis chamber. She... She hasn't long."

He nodded at that. "Thank you."

As he started towards the Isochamber, Jika added, "Eydiir won't leave. But we need her out here. The Doc's been too busy to say anything, and we haven't had time to find someone who knows Nathael, but-"

"Understood." He held his breath as he moved carefully through the chaos around him, resisting taking in the scents of the charred flesh, the cut flesh, but unable to not hear the pain and urgency in the voices and the sounds.

It was quieter in the Isochamber, even with the door open, and he took in the sight of the tall, dark-skinned Capellan nurse beside the biobed, holding the hand of the woman lying upon it, talking with her. "Eydiir?"

She turned; her eyes told more than the rest of her face. "Captain? Can I help you?"

"Yes," he replied gently. "You can go back to work out there."

Eydiir started, glancing down at the patient before explaining, "She- She-"

"I know. But you can't help her any more. You can help those people out there."

Now emotion leaked out into the rest of the normally-stoic expression. "She shouldn't be alone now."

"She won't be. I'll stay with her." He drew up, patting his former cadet on the shoulder. "Go on."

From the bed, the object of their discussion spoke up with a fractured, weak voice. "Y-Yes... Go... Help my crew..."

Eydiir spared the other young woman a final glance, before offering silent gratitude to Hrelle and departing. Hrelle drew up and regarded her: Lieutenant Natheal was a shockingly young-looking Rigellian Jelna female, with segmented, sallow skin, though much of hers had been blackened and cracked from plasma fire- and most of her legs appeared missing beneath the sheets covering her. She looked up and murmured, "Lieu- Lieutenant Natheal re-reporting-"

"Shush." He leaned against the bed at her waist, taking a moment to check the biodata on the display behind her. "I'm Captain Hrelle, and your reputation precedes you, Lieutenant. I heard you stuck around to get everyone else you could find off your ship. You know that sort of heroic nonsense is reserved for us Captains, don't you?"

She offered a broken smile. "S-Suppose you'd better promote me, then..."

He smiled back - but inwardly his guts twisted, as the young woman suddenly, strikingly reminded him of his daughter Sasha. So young, so brave and reckless, joking even in the face of death... to be left like this, just waiting... "We have 477 of your people onboard. You appear to be the only Bridge officer left."

She nodded. "C-Captain Boutella- the others- never made it out in time- I-" She made a sound. "I was lucky." She swallowed. "So to speak."

"A lot of your crew owe you their lives."

Natheal gave him a faint nod. "S-So the nurse told me. And the doctor. Both very reassuring. Less forthcoming about how long I had left." She winced in pain before continuing. "H-How about you, Captain? Please? I... I think I deserve it."

He took her hand in his. "Tosa-"

She made a sound. "Oh, we're on a first-name basis now. Never a good sign. How long, Sir?"

"Not... long."

Her lip curled slightly. "Thank you."

He squeezed gently. "I'm sorry, Tosa. I'm so sorry. The neuroblockers will suppress the pain, but... I wish we could do more."

"You can, Sir. Y-You can tell my parents... I'm sorry. They were right: Starfleet is a dangerous job. They wanted me to go into acting, like them. Actors die a lot, though usually just on stage. But me, I... I wanted to see the stars from a different angle to the one we had in our own sky... tell them- I kept my faith- tell them I love them-"

She stopped as she went into a coughing fit, and he helped clean away the blood she brought up as he shifted her, to keep her from choking, before settling her down again once it passed, pushing down his own anguish and frustration. "I will, Tosa. Take it easy-"

She swallowed. "P-Please- my-my Chanaer-"

"Your what?"

Natheal turned her head to the side; Hrelle followed her eye to a nearby table, where the remains of her uniform had been deposited, along with her combadge... and a chain, upon which hung a silver amulet in an elaborate spiral pattern. His memory recalled a Rigellian belief in an All-Mother, as he reached out for it, setting it in her hand. "Here."

She clutched it weakly, but seemed to calm down visibly as she stared upwards. "I- I know religion is considered... primitive by many in Starfleet. But... my faith has given me comfort... and strength. Especially being away from home, from my family... I- I will soon go to the Shores to be with the All-Mother, and all my family who have-"

But then her face melted into anguish. "No. No, I won't. I can't. I've damned myself."

"Damned?" Hrelle asked softly. "How could you damn yourself?"

A tear escaped her. "When- When the plasma fire hit me, and the pain overwhelmed me, and seemed to go on forever... I wanted to die. I begged anyone who could hear me to let me die. But such thoughts are unforgivable to the All-Mother... It's a Capital Sin..."

Hrelle reached out and wiped away the tear, leaning closer and whispering, "Not today. Not today, and not for you. You can't do any wrong today, Tosa Natheal: Captain's Orders.

My people have a Great Mother of our own. She'll know yours, and She'll speak with Her. And She'll make sure you make it to the Shores. I promise."

She tried to smile - but then her body spasmed. The alarms sounded overhead, until he reached up and switched off the displays, before continuing to hold her.

She coughed, barely getting out her final words. "I-I'm s-scared..."

"I'll be with you," he promised.

She settled again.

Breathed out.

And was still.

Hrelle was certain only a few seconds had passed when he was alone.

Then he heard someone enter, recognising the scent. "Doctor."

Masterson drew in, moving to the other side of the biobed and doing a check, though it was obvious that it was just a formality. His cowboy drawl was subdued. "She was twenty. That ain't no damn age."

"Younger than Sasha," Hrelle noted, reaching up to close her remaining eye.

"Yeah... Captain, I'm sorry, but we're gonna need the Isochamber as an additional Ops table."

Hrelle nodded. "Do you need help taking her to the Morgue?"

"No, Sir; with all of her crewmen out in the corridors, we'll transport her there directly."

"Make sure she's safe and undisturbed. She's earned it." Hrelle rose, seeing that the Chanaer had dropped from Natheal's grip; he retrieved it, carefully slipping it around her neck, wiping his muzzle. "There'll be a staff briefing in an hour. If you can't make it, send someone."

*

The view from the Captain's Ready Room windows reminded Hrelle of being swept up in a wild current after a storm, as the comet tail debris swam past, and a soft light from the protostar beyond illuminated everything in a deathly pallor that gave no warmth or comfort.

"Of the 477 survivors of the Tsukuba that we saved," Masterson reported. "Twenty have since died, twelve are critically injured and have been secured in our Stasis Chambers, thirty are spread out in the Intensive Care Units of both Sickbays, and half of the remaining survivors are being treated for minor injuries as well as Post Traumatic Disorder. If there's any positive to this, it's that with the new deployments throughout Starfleet to respond to the War, the ship didn't leave Starbase 209 with a full complement; only 89 lives were lost in all today." He grunted. "'Only'."

"And the survivors?"

"Well, we'll be okay in the short-term; many of the Tsukuba's own medical and Counseling staff have stepped in to assist their people."

Hrelle nodded soberly, looking to Bellamy, who had been pale and silent since the initial attack from the Klingons, and turned to Grev. "Chief?"

The Tellarite's snout wrinkled in typical disdain. "Those incompetent mutts who wrote the Technical Manuals on evacuation limits for Sabre-class vessels might have been too optimistic. We haven't reached the rated limit but our life support efficiency has dropped 22%, though that shouldn't be enough to affect us... yet. Our replicator rations will be exhausted in a day's time, though."

"Fortunately, we shouldn't be alone for that long," Hrelle pointed out. "We got a message out to the Fleet. Mr Bellamy, what would be the earliest we can expect reinforcements?"

The man blinked, shaking himself from his distracted state to reply, "Um, the earliest would be in another four hours, Sir."

Hrelle regarded him for a moment, before looking to Neheru. "Keep a passive scan on the subspace channels. If you pick up anything, do not respond until the signal's been analysed; it may be a Klingon trick."

"Aye, Sir," the Kelpien replied, sparing a glance at Bellamy.

"You think the varmints might still be out there, Captain?" Masterson asked.

"Once they realised they've been tricked, Doc," C'Rash responded, biting her claws. "They'll be pissed off, and come back here looking to regain honour." She indicated the view outside. "This comet's sweating iridium, nickel... and kelbonite, which should help shield us from sensors. But at the same time, our own sensors would be extremely limited. We wouldn't know they were out there until they were nipping at our tails."